Wounded Soldiers
by Neko-chan4
Summary: Takes place after the events of "Showtime". Slightly musive one-shot on Spike's rescue & revival, the reactions of the Potentials, and that of Buffy as well. Slight Spuffy-ness.
1. Preempt

**Wounded Soldiers**

**A Buffy One-Shot**

By Nichole (Neko) Johnson

Written: January 20th, 2003

Summary: continuation of the events from Season Seven's "Showtime": Spike's rescue and recovery.  Slight Spuffy-ness (Buffy/Spike)—_always_ Spuffy-ness…

Disclaimers: _Buffy's not mine.  ::cries uncontrollably::  (Spike's soul is, however—he promised it to me in return for a pack of smokes.  ^_^)_

The lyrics at the beginning are from Velvet Chain's "Strong", off of the BtVS soundtrack.  I thought they fit Spike really well.

Author's Notes: I'd been wanting to delve into this for the past week, but unfortunately, time would not find me at a computer until just now, so my little one-shot fic only just makes it before we all get to see what truly happens in tomorrow's episode.

Thanks goes out to all those writers before me who continued the story after "Showtime".  It was only after reading your great fics that I was inspired to try some one-shot ficcing of my own.  Mine could never compare to the awesome writing of any of yours, but I hope it can provide the same type of enjoyment.

*           *           *           *           *           *

_You would fight for me;_

_You would starve for me;_

_You would suffer,_

_suffer__ for me;_

_You would die for me._

_~"Strong" by Velvet Chain_

The walk from the caves in which Spike had endured the First's torment was slow and marked with heavy, agonizing silence.  The vampire stumbled with each step; laboring to support his own weight despite his numerous injuries.

But Buffy's grip was firm, her own support of his larger frame undaunting; a tenderness unheard of in all their former encounters apparent in her ministrations.

Several times, the vampire chanced a pained glance at her face; taking in the cuts and contusions that now characterized her countenance.  A flurry of emotions—scattered thoughts and open wounds—shone in his dark eyes, but not a word was spoken of them.

The only sounds that marked their wounded gamble towards the temporary shelter of the Summers' home was the labored breath of the Slayer, and the soft, nearly imperceptible sound of the vampire crying.

They made a sorry pair, shambling up the front steps.

*           *           *

The unexpected light, and noise, and congestion of the house overwhelmed Spike's senses; accustomed as they were to the dark and lonely confines of the caves where'd he'd spent for what seemed like an eternity now.  He shrank at first from them; ducking his head about and stumbling a bit despite himself in the overcrowded entryway.

Buffy's arm remained to catch him, however, as she silently move to shield him from the looks and barrage of questions of the others.

"Just a little further," she assured in a calm tone, maneuvering him carefully up the stairs under the support of her weight.  "Up the stairs."

The uncertain, concerned voice of Willow drifted up from somewhere nearby.

"Buffy—"

"I need them out of the way," came the Slayer's voice, clear and commanding as she continued to steer Spike slowly up the stairs.  "Now, Willow.  They'll be time for questions later."

"R-right," was the witches reply.

She turned to the horde of curious and horrified onlookers, motioning them back from the area with small sweeps of her arms.  "Back!  Back up!  Everyone to the basement!"

There was a chorus of disappointed remarks, scattered through with earnest inquiries:

"What happened to him?  Is that the one—"

"The vampire!  The one she talked about!  Why'd she bring him here?!"

"He's a vampire?  T-that's a vampire?!"

"Girls!" shouted Willow, more forcefully this time, pushing them back towards the kitchen.  "Basement—now!  Questions—later!"

The troop reluctantly obeyed, allowing themselves to be herded towards the basement; as Xander, Anya and Dawn moved in to await Buffy's instructions from the foot of the stairs.

"Anya, First Aid kit.  And the blood packets confiscated from Andrew.  I'll need those."

"Right," was the vengeance demon's terse reply, obeying without hesitation.

"Xander, check over our defenses again.  If anything needs reinforcing, do it."

The carpenter nodded tersely, his expression perversely dark.  "Board-and-nail duty.  Got it."

Dawn's eyes followed Buffy and Spike's progress up the stairs as Xander hurried off in search of his tools; eyeing her sister hopefully, expression heavy with concern.

"Buffy, what about me?  Let me do something," she inquired pleadingly, expressing agitation at having been left out thus far.

The Slayer turned from her task, allowing her sister a tight glance.  Her expression was commanding—the look of the warrior—but the look of pain and exhaustion was evident in her hollow eyes as she met her sister's concerned gaze.

"I want you to keep the potentials occupied.  Everybody stays downstairs!  I'm leaving you and Willow in charge."

Dawn nodded numbly, watching the two disappear upstairs; a pair of wounded soldiers in a desperate battle.

And sharing a quick, worried glance with Anya as she reappeared with the First Aid gear in hand, she turned and headed for the basement; her jaw set in a grim line.

The war had begun.  But to whom's side were the tides now turned?

*           *           *           *


	2. Wounds

**Wounded Soldiers**

**A Buffy One-Shot**

By Nichole (Neko) Johnson

Written: January 20th, 2003

Summary: continuation of the events from Season Seven's "Showtime": Spike's rescue and recovery.  Slight Spuffy-ness (Buffy/Spike)—_always_ Spuffy-ness…

Disclaimers: _Buffy_'s not mine.  ::cries uncontrollably::  (Spike's soul is, however—he promised it to me in return for a pack of smokes.  ^_^)

*           *           *           *           *

_~ "Wounds" ~_

Despite his fatigue, despite all his aches, the vampire refused to let himself fall into rest as the Slayer silently ministered to his wounds; his one good eye, not swollen beyond use, fixed constantly on the stoic, warrior-like features of the woman seated across from him.  Only his perceptiveness could see the tenderness there; the worry that had etched itself into her very flesh over the last few days, and it startled and amazed him…and nearly reduced his remaining strength to tears.

He was speechless for sometime, unable to comprehend this unlikely change of events, nor to put his thoughts to words.  Spike was merely content to bask in the feel of worn wood and cloth beneath his raw skin, instead of dank stones and chains; content to soak in the tender touch of Buffy's administrations of his many wounds.

In was a long silence, as Buffy dabbed antiseptic over his cuts and bruises and dressed his larger wounds; putting great care and concern into each wound.  Reaching his face, where a large gash split a garish mark through his upper lip, she froze momentarily, meeting the vampire's weary, thankful gaze.  Something in the warrior's look slipped; her face pinching painfully as emotions warred to be unleashed.  Relief, pity, concern; her eyes flashed with them, painful and poignant.

Spike's attempts at speech were, however, unrewarded.  Wetting his chapped and torn lips, his voice only managed to come out as a hoarse, broken breath from the depths of his chest.

And suddenly the break in Buffy's mask was in place once more, as she turned her eyes hurriedly away; mouth working to repair the mistake her eyes had made.  

"Ah…Here—your eye.  Let me…"

Setting the swab of antiseptic down, she reached for the ice pack that had been provided her, pressing it to his swollen eye with continued tenderness that belied her sudden awkwardness.

The vampire finally managed to regain his voice.

"Thanks," he murmured softly in reply, his good eye also attempting avoidance for several heartbeats in the awkwardness of the moment.

The petite blonde scooted forward slightly in her chair, pulling the compress away for a moment to peer in cold scrutiny at his eye.  Her lips pursed slightly as she winced nearly imperceptibly at the severity of his inflamed eye.  Then she returned her gaze to his; gentle yet inscrutable once more as she replaced the ice.

He took the ice from her silently, letting his hand slide over hers until she relinquished the compress to him; allowing him to hold it to his own eye as she turned once more to the dressing of his other wounds.

There was silence again for several heartbeats, and then the vampire's voice broke into both of their thoughts.

"Buffy."

She seemed not to hear him, continuing to dab dubiously at the open, festering wounds on his chest.

"Buffy…"

Her movements were suddenly hesitant, broken by his dry, exhausted voice.  Green eyes rose slightly to meet cloudy blue; brimming dark with indecipherable emotions.

"You came for me."

Spike's voice cracked slightly.  It and his face were that of another man; one far more moved by emotions and the complexities of human compassion.  It was a strange sight, those blue eyes brimming heavily with unshed tears.  

Buffy's face seemed to thin; her expression tightening painfully.

"You…"  The vampire took a shallow, unneeded breath.  "You said you wouldn't come.  Y-she told me…you wouldn't come."

Buffy licked her lips, her features tense.  "The First," she murmured noiselessly, turning once again to his wounds; her movements becoming pronouncedly shaky.

The vampire chuckled brokenly, the sound hollow and painful to Buffy's ears.  "I told her…you believed in me.  I told her you would come."

"But I didn't believe in it."

The careful administrations ceased; the petite blonde leaning back slightly from her work, eyes not meeting the vampire's in a tense show of self-control.

"Spike."

His words were hollow this time, echoing of remembrances of pain.

"She knew I didn't believe it."

There was another marked silence between the two, while Buffy thought slowly on her words.

"The First…was messing with you.  It messed with you before; it's messing with all of us."

Spike looked down at her, blue eyes dark and fathomless.  "I know."

She returned his gaze briefly—eyes of matching, unfathomed green—and then silence once more stretched between them.

He leaned back in his chair, staring off into nothing as he continued to hold the cold compress to his eye.  And she set down her medical swab, picking up several small squares of gauze and the roll of medical tape; settling down to bandage the garish, rune-like wounds on his chest.

*           *           *           *           *


	3. Distrust

**Wounded Soldiers**

**A Buffy One-Shot**

By Nichole (Neko) Johnson

Written: January 21, 2003

Summary: continuation of the events from Season Seven's "Showtime": Spike's rescue and recovery.  Slight Spuffy-ness (Buffy/Spike)—_always Spuffy-ness…_

Disclaimers: _Buffy_'s not mine.  ::cries uncontrollably::  (Spike's soul is, however—he promised it to me in return for a pack of smokes.  ^_^)

Author's Notes: Wee!  Despite having just seen the new episode, "Potential", I don't think this chapter was really affected!  (Even the later stuff, which I finished after the show.)  I was, however, quite pleased to notice the tiny moment between Spike and Buffy, when Spike pulled her hand away gently.  It seemed awfully familiar to the brief touch between them in my last chapter, when Spike takes the cold compress from her.  Made it feel like I was kind of on the same wavelength as the show's writers there.  ^_^

Anyway, I'll probably continue with this just a bit further.  There are some issues, theories, etc. I want to deal with in here, so a big "Don't worry!" to those of you pressing for me to continue.  There's more to come.

And if you're really looking for more Spuffy goodness, check out my other, longer ongoing fic, "Beyond the Darkness" (currently on Chapter 7).  It's sure to deliver in the romance department.

*           *           *           *           *

_~ "Distrust" ~_

Wounds bandaged and cleaned as best as could be in a situation lacking much time, and sporting a clean shirt borrowed from Xander for the time being, Spike made his way slowly back down the stairs; guided by the Slayer, who was close at hand in case he should need the support.

"…there'll be a lot of questions.  Everyone's pretty tense, and there's a lot to explain," she was saying as they went, her eyes ever-watchful on his steps; keeping a close watch on his progress down the stairwell.

"So.  He's Spike?"

The two looked up from where they stood halfway down the stairs, meeting Kennedy's calculating, expressionless gaze.

Buffy faltered momentarily, hurrying further down the steps and forgetting her watch over the vampire momentarily.

"K-Kennedy… You're supposed to be in the basement with the others," she pointed out, a hint of disapproval coloring her already flustered tone.

The hard-headed Slayer-in-Training took no heed of her reprisal, still eyeing Spike with cold, shrewd eyes.  Spike, in turn, returned her gaze; but his was a faintly curious, if not expressionless look.  He seemed to be sizing her up, along with the situation, but he gave no indication to the observations he had made.

Kennedy crossed her arms solemnly, a disapproval of her own taking hold of her features.

"And you think he'll be able to help us?"

Buffy reached the bottom of the steps and met the dark-haired girl, eye to eye, her expression stern and challenging.

"Yes, I do," she replied in a low tone, meeting the potential Slayer's gaze with a hard one of her own.  "Kennedy, we'll have this conversation later, though.  Right now—"

Spike cleared his throat loudly, cutting Buffy's retort short and returning her attention to him, where he still stood halfway down the stairs.  The peroxide-blonde vampire inclined his head slightly, and Buffy's gaze followed the movement towards the hall, where four heads could be seen peeking around the stairwell, gawking at the three of them in the entryway.

The blonde Slayer sighed unendingly, rolling her eyes heavenward in an expression of hopeless irritation.  "Here we go…"

The potentials cowed slightly, looking sheepish.

"Sorry…" came Molly's weak apology.  "We were all getting pretty antsy down there."

A bit too late, Dawn and Willow came hurrying around the corner, looking repentant.

"W-we were just talking and—" began Willow, stammering for breath.

"They overtook us," cut in Dawn helpfully, giving her sister a sheepish look.  "I-it was like the British Invasion down there."

Rona looked insulted.  "Hey, I'm not British."

Buffy sighed once more, her gaze straying to Spike, still poised on the stairs.  The vampire raised a scarred eyebrow at her.

"Been meanin' ta ask you, Buffy," he spoke up softly, some of the old humor apparent in his voice.  "When exactly did your place become Sunnydale's new sorority?"

*           *           *

"He's a vampire?" spoke up one of the potentials hesitantly, her tone dubious.

They had all been gathered in the living room for temporary council; the Scoobies either lined up on the sofa, beginning with Spike and then Dawn, or standing various posts about the room; the potentials across from them on chairs and other various pieces of furniture.

Buffy was left standing; pacing the length between the two groups.  Giles stood nearby just off of the entryway, look pensive and yet attempting support as always.  His countenance was dark, and he fiddled with his spectacles often; watching the room with fleeting, harried glances.

Somewhere in the back of the room, Andrew gave a faint, complaining whimper from his chair, to which he'd once more been bound.  Buffy had ordered it, not trusting the nerd to not flee in the face of his attempted killer, or something less drastic.

Buffy turned to the owner of the question, looking as if just coming out of thought.

"Yes.  He's a vampire," she replied calmly, eyeing each of the potential Slayers with what she hoped was a comforting gaze.

"And he's going to help us."

The potentials broke into nervous murmuring once again, eyeing the vampire on the couch with growing distrust and even some terror.

"You expect us to trust one of those things?" demanded Rona suddenly, sounding horrified.  Having come to them with no former knowledge of the Slayer or the forces of darkness, the newly-discovered potential had been the loudest voice of fear and distrust out of the group; outside of the former "Eve", whom had turned out to be The First in their midst.

"What if he kills us all in our sleep?!" exclaimed Vi in a small voice, sounding possibly more terrified than Rona.

Molly turned to the other potential, eyeing her doubtfully.  "He doesn't exactly look dangerous."  

She turned again to peer at the vampire in question with open curiosity, whatever fear she may have had masked by her out-going nature.

"Besides, aren't vampires supposed to be all veiny and fangy?  'E looks like a regular bloke to me."

The others suddenly looked equally curious as to this anomaly.  Except for Kennedy, who stood apart from the group, watching the discussion with a cold, calculating gaze.

Buffy gave Spike a look.  The vampire returned her gaze, looking doubtful.

"Don' really think they're ready for that, do you?" he muttered sardonically, referring to his game face.

She continued to stare at him, inclining her head slightly and assuring her decision with her eyes.  He sighed slightly, not so eager to seal the fate he could only imagined awaited him, but it was obvious he would comply anyway.

Turning to the gathered girls, he allowed his features to suddenly become that of the demon that had taken his form so long ago.  He allowed them a brief glance of his golden, beast-like eyes and deadly fangs; and then the image had melted once more into the more preferable, chiseled features and mournful blue eyes.

The effect had been enough.  The girls were once again a chorus of murmured terror and distrust, some of them stumbling over themselves in order to put further distance between themselves and the sudden demon in their midst.

Kennedy, however, remained unaffected; still standing to the sidelines, her expression severe.  Spike noted her likeness to the blonde Slayer; the warrior's stance, the determined and stubborn streak that her eyes spoke of.  It was clear why she was among the many potentials.  She would've made an imposing Slayer.

Buffy spoke up suddenly over the wave of panic that had taken hold of the girls, her tone commanding enough to belay their terror momentarily.

"Yes, he's a vampire!" she proclaimed loudly, sending them all into silence with her voice.  "Yes, he drinks blood.  Yes, he's killed before.  Many."

Only she noticed the vampire's flinch, the tortured look as he averted his eyes hastily.  She went on, however, her tone softer this time; holding them to her voice.

"But what we are facing is beyond vampires, beyond massacre, beyond fear."  

Her eyes scanned their ranks, taking in the various expressions of fear and anxiety written there; and she saw herself within their eyes, saw the fears and distrust she herself felt everyday.  They were all exhausted, they were all afraid.  But their strength despite that was what this thing hadn't counted on.

"What we're facing is the reason we fear these things.  The First—pure evil.  It's no longer a balance anymore; this is war.  This is a fight to keep this thing from destroying everything we hold dear.'

"And we need all the help we can get."

*           *           *

Those gathered were silent for several moments, taking in the intent of those words.

And then one nervous potential voiced a fear that had been bothering her for sometime.

"What if he bites one of us?"

The Slayer's countenance seemed to crumble, as she allowed herself a sigh of frustration once again at their continued stubbornness.  "He's not going to—!"

Spike, however, saved her the trouble.  "Can't," he stated in his soft, clear baritone.  "I don' hunt anymore."

"But what if—"

This time, Dawn cut in hastily, staring down the gathered potentials.  "Spike's got a soul.  He won't bite any of you," she said suddenly, her tone frank and defensive.  She spared the vampire seated next to her an uncertain glance, and Spike favored her with a small, tight smile at her daring.

Kennedy finally spoke up from across the room.  

"A soul?" she inquired, her tone characteristically demanding, and yet hinting of surprise.

Sharing a glance with her sister, and then with Spike, Buffy nodded her head in confirmation.

"Yes," she replied gravely.  "He has a soul."

From her seat across the room, Molly favored the blonde Slayer with a curiously bemused expression.

"I don't get it," she said suddenly, "What does 'aving a soul got to do with it?"

"A great deal much."

Everyone's gaze was suddenly on the Watcher, who had thus far gone quietly unnoticed in a corner of the room.

Giles adjusted his spectacles nervously, avoiding their gazes as he elaborated.  "A vampire with a soul is inclined to feel…remorse for his victims; to regret his misdeeds as a demon would not.  Those few to ever be returned their souls, are repentant creatures…and also tortured.'

"The memory of former victims and acts of violence could drive a soul endowed vampire to madness."

The stillness that followed his remark was palpable.  It was obvious that many of them there were familiar with the matter, and it wasn't comforting words he spoke now.

It seemed that Buffy shot her former Watcher a slightly disapproving look before turning to the others and continuing.

"Look, we don't have time to break-down and support all of your reasons for being okay with this.  All I can really do is assure you that while I'm here, none of you are going to be harmed."

Kennedy came further into the room, finally relinquishing her spectator status.  "She's right.  It's obvious we need the help.  Most of us don't even know how to handle weapons."

She turned her cool gaze on Spike once more, her expression still indecipherable.  "And I'm guessing, despite his condition, the vampire's gotta' be strong.  Extra strength…It could really help us here."

From across the room, Molly scanned those gathered with a supportive glance.  "Ah-I think it's a good idea," she piped up encouragingly.  She looked sheepishly over at the Slayer.  "And I trust Buffy's judgment."

Buffy nodded silently, turning her gaze to the other two potentials who had thus far remained silent.  Rona looked around in frustration, as if searching for back-up.  But finally, she rolled her eyes slightly, turning back to the Slayer with a sour face.

"I don't know about judgment…" she muttered dryly.  But she met Buffy's eyes with assurance.

"But I trust you, too."

"And so do I," spoke up Vi hurriedly, although she still shot a frightened glance in Spike's direction.

Buffy looked content with their replies, nodding grimly; a faint, pleased smile gracing her tight features.  She let her arms fall loosely to her sides; swinging them lightly in an attempt to relieve the tenseness she'd been feeling all-too much lately.

"Good!  Then we can—"

"Wait!" came Andrew's voice anxiously from behind them all.  Everyone turned to glance at him momentarily, irritation or patient disregard on their faces.

"What about me?  I should count, seeing as how I'm the one Spike almost killed most recently!"

The Slayer gave the former villain a stony glance.  "You don't count."

Andrew looked desperate, struggling weakly with his bonds.  "B-but, he almost killed me!  And why am I the one who's tied up?  I'm not the one biting people!  I'm like e-easy bait now!"

"Awfully tempting, isn't it?" commented Xander with a sigh, looking regretful.

Spike shot him a wry glance, but didn't finish that thought.

Realizing the group session was through, the others began to wander away, muttering of hunger and so forth; leaving the Buffy, Spike and Xander to deal with the sci-fi geek's complaints.

Buffy crossed her arms and fixed Andrew with an intimidating expression.  "How about, if you promise not to run away or try anything crazy like staking Spike, I'll untie you."

The blonde ex-villain ceased his struggling momentarily, uneasily thinking over her proposition.  Then he fixed her with a hopefully cowed expression.

"Um, could I at least get some holy water or something…?"

Seeing the disapproving expression on her face, he hurriedly nodded his head in agreement, however.

"I-I'm good.  No staking.  Right."

*           *           *           *


	4. Respite

**Wounded Soldiers**

**A Buffy One-Shot**

By Nichole (Neko) Johnson

Written: January 22, 2003

Summary: continuation of the events from Season Seven's "Showtime": Spike's rescue and recovery.  Slight Spuffy-ness (Buffy/Spike)—_always Spuffy-ness…_

Disclaimers: _Buffy_'s not mine.  ::cries uncontrollably::  (Spike's soul is, however—he promised it to me in return for a pack of smokes.  ^_^)

Author's Notes: This chapter, however, was somewhat affected by "Potential", but not entirely.  I used some of the same concepts and even lines, but that's about it.  I think on a whole, the whole story still goes in a slightly different direction than where the show is at currently, so that's all that matters.

Only a couple more chapters to go (maybe even one).  But you can all look forward to more of my other Buffy fic, "Beyond the Darkness", along with its sequel, soon to come.

*           *           *           *           *

_~ "Respite" ~_

Buffy decided it wasn't quite so comforting a thing to watch a vampire sleep.  It was almost like watching over a corpse; as if the person she sat sentinel over had fallen suddenly into death.

Her only comfort was the tranquility of that sleep, for it assured her that his sleep was deep and dreamless.  She could only image the amount of torture he had endured in waiting for her arrival, and to see him safe now and rested came of great comfort to her; more than she would have liked to admit.

The petite blonde stifled a yawn, shifting uncomfortably in the chair she sat watch in.  She had relinquished her bed to him, after much argument; assuring him that she would rest in Dawn's room while he slept.  But she could never have let him know how responsible she felt for what had become of him.  Her need for sleep had been drowned out by her stubbornness to see him cared for after his ordeal, and she had spent the remainder of the night and early morning hours instead holding needless sentry in a corner of the room.

"You really should get your rest, dear," spoke a soft voice near her ear.

Buffy no longer flinched at the now-familiar intrusion of her mother's worrisome advice, still watching the sleeping vampire with guilt-laden concern.

"You should really be the one in that bed right now, Buffy.  You need your rest more than anyone here."

The blonde Slayer shook her head softly.  "No.  I can't rest yet.  Especially if you're the one telling me to do so."

She turned to face her mother's apparition finally, her look almost apologetic.  "I know you're not her."

The figure of Joyce, which stood clear as day beside her, bending close, pulled a face of motherly frustration; shaking her head despairingly at her daughter's stubbornness.

"Buffy, what are you talking about?" she replied gently, sounding exhausted.  "You need your rest, honey.  You're not making sense anymore."

She shot a glance at Spike, then back to her daughter, a reproachful look in her eyes.  "And what have I told you about having vampires in your bed?  You know the house rules, Buffy.  Especially after the trouble with Angel."

The expression on Buffy's face hardened, and yet somehow remained sorrowful and guilty; unable to mistrust the image of her mother entirely.

"Stop," she spoke softly, her tone pleading.  "Just…stop.  Stop pretending you're her.  Stop coming to me like this."

Joyce peered at her sadly, the concern growing in her eyes.  "Stop pretending I'm who, Buffy?  What's this about?"  

The older woman sighed, placing a gentle hand on her daughter's forehead and brushing away the stray strands of hair that lay there.  "I'm your mother, Buffy.  I'm worried about you."

Buffy's countenance seemed to tremble.  There was a quaver to her voice when she spoke again.

"No.  You're not."

*           *           *

She didn't startle as much from this dream as she had the others.  Instead, she woke slowly, raising her head from her shoulder and looking about the room for familiarity.  Nothing appeared out of place; Spike still sleeping soundly across the room in her bed, the faint warm glow of early morning sunshine glittering through the shades.

Getting up from her chair and stretching stiffly, she went to the window and tightened the shades further; replacing the blanket that had been pinned up the night before, which had at sometime come loose and fallen aside.  Assured that the sunlight had been held sufficiently at bay, she slipped silently from the room then, with only one last glance at the vampire still slumbering in her bed.

*           *           *

"Morning," chorused the others off-handedly as the Slayer entered the kitchen, which was already bustling with activity as the five girls and Andrew sat at the overcrowded island.

"Good morning," replied Buffy earnestly with attempted cheer, heading for the refrigerator.  "You guys are all up awfully early."

The girls all shared a glance, looking perplexed.

"Its 10 a.m.," pointed out Molly helpfully, giving Buffy a concerned look.  "Your time."

The blonde froze slightly, carton of orange juice in hand.  "Oh," she replied comically, looking sheepish.

Heading for the cupboard and getting a glass, she poured herself some juice, downing it rapidly in her thirst.

From the counter, Kennedy offered her a supportive grin.  "Hey, don't sweat it.  You needed your sleep."

The others nodded and murmured their agreement, as Buffy began pouring herself another glass.

"Right," was Buffy's overeager reply, smiling assuredly.  "My sleep.  Needed it.  A lot.  Great stuff."

She quickly downed another glass of the orange juice, returning the nearly empty carton to the fridge and retrieving a box of cereal from the cupboards.

The others watched her silently for several moments, especially Dawn, who seemed concerned over something.

"How's Spike?" she asked suddenly, watching her sister prepare herself some breakfast.

Buffy nodded readily, not looking up from her cereal.  "Good.  He seemed to be sleeping well when I last looked."

Dawn nodded faintly in reply, looking somewhat relieved by this.  It was obvious that just as her sister, she had been worried over the vampire as well.

"I didn't sleep well," spoke up Andrew suddenly, gaining strange and annoyed glances from the women in the room.  "The floor in the living room is really hard.  A-and I think there was this, stray piece of glass and it sort of dug into my back, and…"

Realizing he was earning dirty looks from the others, mainly Buffy, he trailed off, clamping his mouth shut once more.

Ignoring the interruption, Buffy turned to her sister once again.  "Where's Xander?  He was supposed to give you a ride to school this morning."

The teenager looked somewhat guilty.  "W-well I told him you probably wouldn't make…me…go today…" she began hesitantly, looking hopeful.  The stern look in her sister's eyes, however, hurried her to correct herself.  

"But I could always go late."

Buffy nodded severely, looking pleased with her reply.  "As soon as he gets back," she added firmly, looking serious.

Dawn nodded earnestly.  "He went to pick some things up at his place, along with some clothes for Spike, now that the heats off of us.  But I'll have him take me when he gets back."

The potentials suddenly looked serious.

"That's right, Buffy," spoke up Kennedy suddenly, sounding grim, "We haven't seen anything of this First thing since you killed that super vamp of it's.  Should we be worried?"

The blonde Slayer looked grim as well, giving the girls a firm glance.  "We should always be worried.  Always be ready.'

"It looks as though The First's in remission, as Anya's resources say, but we can never tell for sure.  All that means for now is time for us.  Time to train; time to plan.  We have to always be ready; always be en guard.'

"Because time for us, means time for them.  The First may be biding it's time for now, but it will be back once it's regrouped, and it will probably be stronger and a lot more dangerous than before."

Buffy got up from her seat, jaw set with determination.  "Therefore, training begins today."

The other's faces showed mixed responses; some fierce enthusiasm, and others, unease.

Andrew also showed enthusiasm.  "Goody!"

Buffy shot him a stern glance.  "Not you, Andrew."

The sci-fi geek looked suddenly disappointed.

Buffy and the other girls suddenly looked up as Spike silently entered the kitchen, looking about at the sea of faces with concealed discomfort.

"Whoa!" was Vi's loud exclamation, her fear of the vampire for once overshadowed by obvious surprise.

"Your face!" spoke up Molly loudly, voicing all of the potential's thoughts.  "I-it's…!"

"You can see out of both eyes now," finished Kennedy wryly, looking slightly impressed, not to mention a bit amused.

Andrew looked uneasily up at the vampire as well, scooting a bit further away from the doorway.  "Yeah, you look great," he muttered nervously, trying to appear unobtrusive for once.

Spike gave them all a dry glance.  "Glad you're all so chipper this morning," he murmured sardonically, slipping past them into the room and heading for the fridge.

Buffy turned her gaze from the vampire to the girls.  "Vampire's heal incredibly fast.  Almost as fast as Slayers," she informed them all curtly, turning her cheek to indicate the cut that had been an open wound only just the night before, and was now but a mere pink mar of her features.

The potentials seemed to take this in with some amount of awe, Molly hurrying to scribble the information down on a tablet already littered with notes; just as the former Slayer-in-Waiting, Annabelle had been known to do.  Dawn rolled her eyes slightly, looking somewhat irritated with their lack of worldly knowledge.

"Buffy," came the vampire's voice softly from just off of the Slayer's shoulder.  She turned to meet his gaze questioningly, pulling back slightly at the sudden close parameters she found herself to him.

"Want I should take this upstairs?" he murmured guardedly, lifting the medical bag of pig's blood in his hand for emphasis.

The petite Slayer turned to eye the collection of teenage girls once more, who were now talking eagerly amongst themselves and occasionally throwing curious glances in the vampire's direction.  She raised a brow wryly at the thought of them dealing with a vampire taking breakfast in their midst.

"That would probably be a good idea…" she replied finally, nodding insistently.

The peroxide-blonde vampire grimaced slightly, dark humor in his eyes.  "Right."

Hefting the bag of blood and closing the refrigerator door, he made to slip out by way of the living room, but Buffy caught his arm suddenly, stopping him momentarily.  He turned to meet her eyes, his gaze questioning once more.

"How are you?" she inquired softly, her gaze intense; interrogating him.

The look in his eyes spoke of further perplexity as he turned to face her more fully, inclining his head slightly at her concern.

She took a deep breath, her gaze softening ruefully.  "I know it's early, but the girls need training.  And I could use your help.  If your strength's up to it right now."

Normally he might have laughed at her concern, but in light of the situation, he merely frowned slightly, looking ruminative.

"Just a few cuts 'n bruises; a rib or two still out of place," he murmured in low tones, keeping his voice from reaching those in the kitchen.

His eyes rose to meet hers again, dark and intense.  "I can manage.  I've fought on more fatal wounds."

Buffy avoided his gaze almost imperceptibly, pretending to be in thought.  She appeared not entirely to trust his assessment, her expression still hinting at concern.

"I need you at full strength, Spike," she began insistently.

"I'll be fine," he continued adamantly, cutting off her persistent concerns.  He gazed at her firmly, willing her to meet his eyes once more, which she finally did; returning his look for equal strength; and he favored her with a faint, sorrowful smile.

"I'm alright, Buffy."

She gazed at him for several more moments, and finally finding assurance there, she nodded slowly in confirmation.

"Wow.  Check out the sparks," murmured Rona suddenly from the other side of the room, breaking the tense silence between vampire and Slayer, and leaving Buffy looking rather shamefaced for it.

The other girls giggled affirmation, as Buffy firmly refused to meet their eyes in disgrace, her countenance tight.  Beside her, Spike fought back the urge to grin in amusement at her embarrassment; despite the fact that he looked nearly as guilty himself.

At the island table, Dawn shot her sister a sorrowfully accusing glance.  It went unnoticed, however, in the amusement coming off of the girls around her.

"Girls!" broke in Buffy's voice suddenly, the giggles dying short.  All eyes were on her once more, their expressions apologetic.

"That's enough fun for now," she began, looking around at them all, her expression severe.  Vi gulped nervously.

"We've got training to do."

*           *           *           *


	5. Blithe

**Wounded Soldiers**

**A Buffy One-Shot**

By Nichole (Neko) Johnson

Written: January 23, 2003

Summary: continuation of the events from Season Seven's "Showtime": Spike's rescue and recovery.  Slight Spuffy-ness (Buffy/Spike)—_always Spuffy-ness…_

Disclaimers: _Buffy_'s not mine.  ::cries uncontrollably::  (Spike's soul is, however—he promised it to me in return for a pack of smokes.  ^_^)

Author's Notes: I don't care for this chapter quite as much as the previous ones; if anything, I'd compare it to a "filler episode".  Some things happen; small progressions are made in the storyline, but it's mostly just a 'for fun' type chapter.  Lot's of SIT gags and banter between Spike and the potentials and so forth.  And of course, some 'meaningful glances' between Buffy and Spike, as I've heard some people call them.  ^_~

This chapter ends the events happening after "Showtime".  The next chapter will pick up after the events of "Potential".  (More explanation will be given in that chapter—I just wanted to warn you all, though, so you'd know what to expect.)

Dictionary Notes: For those of you confused by the title of this chapter, "blithe" is a state of being care-free; or to be cheerful.  Hence, the "filler" status of this chappie.

*           *           *           *           *

_~ "Blithe" ~_

The worries that followed her to work hung heavy on her heart and mind as she attempted some semblance of normalcy in this, their greatest hour of warlike preparation.

As much as she would've liked to begun the training of the SIT's that morning, she knew that things would be difficult on the war council if she continued to be a no-show at work.  It was her decision that she go, no one else's, and yet, she felt as if she had been forced into a sudden tedium she was not quite ready for in her current state of mind.  She was so tired, so very tired.  The only thoughts she could focus on clearly were that of The First and how to battle it; her worries over the abilities of the potentials; the extent of Spike's abilities at the moment.

The excess workload that had crept up on her at work had not helped matters any, either.  Principal Wood hadn't been exaggerating when he'd told her of the huge list of students waiting to see her over her short absence.  Buffy couldn't imagine ever having been so overwhelmed by something other than Slayer business.  Had she not been so worried about other matters, she might have appreciated the normalcy of her plight, but as it was, she had no time for leisurely meditations.  She hadn't even granted herself the time for sleep, and she was greatly regretting it for the remainder of the day.

Four-o'-clock couldn't possibly come soon enough.

When she did get back, however, it was to the sight of bedlam.

"What happened?" she demanded loudly of the guilty trio before her upon entering the kitchen, her tone incredulous.  The kitchen was a cooking nightmare, food and cooking utensils strewn everywhere.

"Everyone was getting rather peckish…" muttered Molly sheepishly, wiping a splotch of something unidentifiable from her cheek with the back of her hand.

"So we thought we'd cook something for lunch," finished Vi in a tinny voice, trying to look as small as possible.

Buffy's shocked gaze shot to Andrew, turning accusing.

The sci-fi geek shook his head hastily, attempting innocence.  "I-I had nothing to do with it.  I swear!  I just came in to see where the burning smell was coming from!"

Buffy's accusing glance shot to the two girls, darkening further.

Molly looked further embarrassed, shrinking in on herself somewhat.  "_That_ was the oven mitt…"

"Oven mitt?!" exclaimed Buffy, her pitch dangerously high.

A loud clambering from upstairs cut off any further admonishments she had as all four of them turned to see Rona and Kennedy go rushing by, giggling under their breaths in smug amusement at some unknown joke.

Arms crossed like a stern mother, the blonde Slayer turned to the two with an icy glare, freezing them in their tracks.  "Alright, you two.  What have you been up to?"

She cast a glance around the kitchen, taking in the carnage once more.  "I can only guess it was no good…"

"Up to?" queried Rona innocently, licking her lips nervously to try and keep from smiling.

Beside her, Kennedy crossed her arms defiantly, looking utterly innocent.  "Nothing," she replied coolly, "We weren't up to anything."

"Girls!!"

Spike's quite obviously infuriated voice echoed quite suddenly down to them all from upstairs, the potentials and Andrew both reacting with most likely well-placed fear at the tone and flinching despite themselves.  

Buffy's glare grew sterner, turning back to Rona and Kennedy for an explanation.

She needn't have asked, however, as Spike soon appeared down the stairs himself, storming into the kitchen looking rather hacked off; not to mention rather wet.  It looked as though he had thrown his clothes on in quite a hurry, his bleached locks in a wet tussle from doing so.

"I could kill you both, y'know—soul or no soul!" he growled angrily, sounding suspiciously more like a disappointed father, than a blood-sucking demon.

Rona and Kennedy only seemed to find the urge not to laugh harder at the look on his face, threatening to burst into outrageous laughter.

Sighing with waning patience, Buffy turned to the vampire with a harried expression.  "Spike, what have they—"

"They were peeking on me in the shower!" he cut her off with a tone of indignation, pointing violently in the direction of the two now giggling perpetrators.  He turned to give them both a harsh glare again.  "I mean it!  Either of you ever seen what a disemboweled corpse looks like?!"

"Spike!" cut in Buffy harshly, before he could elaborate any further on his threat.  The blonde vampire turned to her, still looking fiercely angry, but slightly cowed by the tone he'd caught in her voice.

She didn't proceed to berate him however.  Instead, she gave him a somewhat confused glance, suddenly tinged with amusement.  "Why didn't you lock the door?"

He looked at her, still openmouthed with indignation; his mouth working a bit, but not quite succeeding at formulating an answer to her question.  

Then he huffed loudly, dropping his arms to his sides in frustration.  "You think I'm used to bathing in a house full of teenaged girlies?!  It's like the bloody Brady Bunch around here!"

Andrew raised his hand shyly.  "Can I be Greg?"  Everyone ignored him.

Rona and Kennedy both turned suddenly to Buffy, forgetting their laughter momentarily and looking apologetic.

"We were just curious…" spoke up Rona, beginning to look rather embarrassed about the whole thing.  "We wanted to know what vampires…look like."

Spike turned to her, calmed somewhat, but still incensed to some degree.  "Yeah, well, I'm not a bleedin' peep show," he countered angrily.  "If you want pictures, find a bloody Watcher's Diary!"

Kennedy tried to cover up another amused chuckle with her hand.  "It's not like we saw anything important…"

The two potential Slayers and vampire began to go at it again in a large shouting match, and pretty soon, everyone had begun to shout, arguing loudly.

"Guys!" yelled Buffy loudly over the din, trying to get their attentions.  The arguing continued, increasing somewhat in volume and strength.

"EVERYBODY!" she yelled fiercely.  "SHUT UP!!"

Everyone was suddenly quiet, all eyes on her.  Taking a deep, thankful breath, she looked around at them all, piercing them all with a dark, no-nonsense gaze.

"Finally," she sighed in relief, continuing to look them all over.  She suddenly pierced the four Slayers-In-Waiting with a commanding gaze.  "Girls—downstairs," she commanded sternly.  She turned to Spike.  "Spike, come with me."

"What about me?" spoke up Andrew hurriedly, not wishing to be left-out.

Buffy gave him an annoyed glance.  "Go to the living room.  Or something."  She shrugged, annoyed with his constant pestering.

The sci-fi geek obeyed silently, hurrying out of the room like a puppy with it's tail between it's legs; and Buffy led Spike out to the entryway, where she turned to face him grimly in front of the steps.

Spike gazed back at her, his anger having melted away to be replaced by a somewhat shamefaced expression.  He avoided her eyes slightly, waiting for the verbal dress-down, which he knew was inevitable.

What he got was a rather silly looking grin.

*           *           *

Indignation spread in his dark eyes, his jaw tightening in humiliation.

"Slayer, are you laughin' at me?" he murmured, his tone tight with annoyance.

The look on Buffy's face began to grow slightly more tortured with the effort of holding back so much laughter.  Silent, muffled chuckles rose slowly into amused giggles, as she stared at the vampire before her in growing amusement.

Spike continued to look indignant with her.  "Well if that just—I can't believe you're laughing about this!" he countered in a harsh stage whisper.

Buffy shook her head helplessly, enjoying the look of indignation on his face.  She placed a hand over her mouth to try and muffle her laughter.

"I can't believe you didn't think to lock the door!" she gasped through her laughter, tears of mirth beginning to build at the corners of her eyes.  "I'm gone for only a few hours, and the big bad vampire is almost defeated by a bunch of untrained, 15-year-old girls!"

Spike rolled his eyes, his embarrassment evident as he avoided her gaze.  "Alright, Buffy.  That's enough now."

The blonde only laughed harder, still clamping a hand tightly over her mouth to muffle the sound, and suddenly, the bleach-blonde vampire couldn't help but stifle a smile of his own at her amusement.

And it hit him suddenly, that he hadn't seen her this relaxed, this amused for quite sometime now.  When was the last time she had laughed quite so hard, he couldn't even recall.  His smile softened sadly, turning almost bittersweet.

The petite Slayer's laughter died away slowly at the look in the vampire's eyes.  It had been a long time since she'd last laughed quite like that, she realized suddenly.  Spike had obviously realized it as well.  

Her laughter died, but the sparkle in her eyes because of it was still there; still dancing with an inner fire he had long since forgotten in her these days.  The moment stretched on between them, soured by recent events that prevented each from voicing their thoughts.

Spike was the first to look away, sliding his hands into his pockets with pent-up frustration; but his face only spoke of sorrow.

"We should probably get to training those troublesome girls, eh?" he suggested softly, his tone holding no real emotion.  "With Giles off to Shanghai to pick up that Chao-Ahn girl or whatever her name is, it'll be only you 'n me to train 'em for awhile.  Best we get started."

Buffy's countenance seemed to have gone just as dark, as she lowered her eyes in discomfort.  "Yeah, you're right.  I should've started them sooner it's just—"

She suddenly broke off in mid-sentence, gasping loudly in realization.  "Oh, God!  The kitchen!"

The vampire looked momentarily confused, then remembering the state of the kitchen, nodded shortly.  "Oh.  Right.  Yeah, the kitchen."  He paused for a moment to ponder this.

"Have Andrew take care of it," he proposed suddenly, his tone serious.  Buffy looked at him in surprise, pulling a strange face.

"Andrew?"

The vampire shrugged dismissively.  "Well, yeah.  'S got to earn 'is keep somehow, doesn't he?"

There was suddenly a rather darkly mischievous glint in the Slayer's green eyes.  "You know, you've got a point there…" she murmured, the corners of her mouth quirking in an impish grin.

Smiling back at her, Spike followed as she turned into the living room, shouting Andrew's name commandingly.

Perhaps tonight's training wouldn't go so bad after all.

*           *           *           *


	6. Tete a tete

**Wounded Soldiers**

**_~ Part the Second ~_**

**A Buffy One-Shot**

By Nichole (Neko) Johnson

Written: February 1-4, 2003

Summary: the second part of "Wounded Soldiers", being the continuation of events _after_ "Potential".  For a summary of "Potential", head to this link: http://www.upn.com/shows/buffy/episodes/season07/show_12.shtml 

Disclaimers: I still don't own the rights to _Buffy (that would be Joss Whedon, lucky bloke…)  If I did, I'd have _way_ too much fun with Spike.  ^_~_

Spoilers: no Spuffy this chapter; just some good old-fashioned Spike/Dawn bonding

Author's Notes:  Whoa.  This one took me awhile.  I'm terribly sorry about that—everything sort of hit me at once these past few weeks and I just couldn't find the time to get to the computer.  And then when I did, I practically had to drag myself by the seat of my pants through this chapter.  I wanted to write this part, and I knew vaguely what needed to be said here, it was just a matter of finding the right words.  Spike and Dawn's scene actually got written out two times with two different conversations.  It was tiring.  But I made it through and I think I'm satisfied with the results.  I hope all of you will enjoy it as well.  Let me know on that.  ^_^

Dictionary Notes: A tête-à-tête is a private conversation between two persons.

*           *           *           *           *

_~ "Tête-à-tête" ~_

Weapons were a funny thing.

Funny how they'd become something so familiar to her, and yet remained unknown.  How they could be the very thing she needed in a situation, and at the same time, be a burden to her that came unwanted.  They were something she need fear when in the wrong hands, but in her own, they required trust and dependence.

Weapons were her enemy, and at the same time, her most important ally.

She had become all-too familiar with them in her six-and-a-half years as the Slayer; had learned their names, their uses, the strength and skill required to use each one properly.  But there had always remained this distance there, between the knowledge and herself.  The knowledge was there, but it was not a part of herself.  Weapons were still just objects; still just tools of the trade which she relied on when the weapon she had made her body into just wasn't enough.  She was a reluctant ally of weapons, in the end; no matter how much it seemed she relied on them.

She relied on that separation between her and the weapon.  It was the one thing that kept her grounded when it seemed she could only be sucked in further by the killing and death that was her trade.

_I am my own weapon._

The words had seemed to entrance the Slayers in Training.  She had hoped they would do as much; hoped they would encourage their growing trust in their own abilities.

As soon as she had awoken that hidden potential within each of them, the lessons had begun to take hold.  Things fell in place, just as they had when she had first discovered her purpose.

_I am meant to do this.  I am the power._

No, none of them had the strength and power she did.  But they had the instincts.  Instincts were all she needed from them right now.

Buffy paused a moment in her thoughts, gripping the handle of the ax she held in her hand.  Eyeing it critically for a moment longer, she loosened her grip and placed it gently into the weapons' chest along with the others.

Footsteps on the stairs alerted her to the other girl's presence, but she didn't turn her head; continuing to go through her cache of weapons, inventorying them as she returned them to their chest after the day's training.

"You remind me of my Watcher," came Kennedy's calm voice from the stairs, breaking into Buffy's monotony with a nostalgic tone.  "He was always going through the weapons after practice.  Think he just liked the feel of them in his hands."

The blonde finally turned from her work, shooting the potential a stern, but not unfriendly glance.  "You should be resting, Kennedy.  We're going to get started a lot earlier tomorrow."

The dark-haired potential came further down the steps, smiling wryly.  "I'm still a bit wound up after the training session you put us through," she commented, coming into the basement, "I'll get some sleep in a bit."

She took a seat on one of the benches that graced the training area, looking to the Slayer with sudden seriousness.  "I was actually looking to talk."

Buffy straightened up from her work, shooting the other girl a surprised look.  She seemed to have been caught off-guard.  Her eyes widened in a comically innocent expression. 

"Talk?"

*           *           *

Dawn stifled a yawn, trying to deny how tired she had become over the last few hours.  The pages opened before her had become white blurs covered with incomprehensible smears of ink in her exhaustion.  Not that the hard-to-decipher texts had been any clearer when she had been fully awake, but it was obvious that she was getting nowhere at this point.

She shot a glance at the clock, groaning slightly at the late—or rather, early—hour it indicated.  It was a good thing that the day wasn't a school day, or Buffy would have gone into Lecture Mode for her benefit, she was sure.

Shaking her head slightly to clear her daze, the girl attempted to turn her attentions back to the task at hand.

"Shouldn't you 'ave turned in quite sometime ago, niblet?" came a familiar, lower-London accent from behind her.

Dawn started sharply, turning to glance in surprise at the vampire leaning in the doorway behind her.  She calmed somewhat from her spook, eying Spike with familiar, teenaged defiance at the interruption.  But her eyes softened somewhat at the unfamiliar lack of smugness to the peroxide-blonde's stance.  He looked tired, she realized.  Tired and worn, a mask of wry humor trying unsuccessfully to cover his exhaustion up.

Spike smirked half-heartedly, pushing himself off of the doorjamb and slipping further into the room.  "Big Sis'd have a turn if she knew you'd been up all night at the books," he added, his tone more concerned than teasing for a change.

The brunette turned back to her books hastily, her posture stiff.  The memory of her last exchange with the vampire was still fresh in her mind, and it wasn't a pleasant one.  A lot had happened since then, that was sure, and she didn't know quite how to face him.

"I was researching.  Guess I lost track of time," she replied, her tone growing a bit cold.  She began to close the books before her hastily, getting up from her seat and making as if to leave.

She didn't see the hurt that flashed in the vampire's eyes.  Spike sighed softly, allowing the façade of humor to fall away.  "Dawn," he began, his tone raw and drained.

The girl paused, caught off-guard by the use of her name, instead of his usual monikers for her; and also, the tone of weary seriousness that invaded his voice.  She was reminded once more of the vampire who had looked after her the summer following her sister's death, the one who had shared her pain but had still tried to remain strong for her.

She turned to him again, pursing her lips in agitation as she did so.

Noting the painfully serious expression on the girl's face, the blonde vamp attempted a small smile for her benefit, lightening the mood a bit.  Fishing in the pocket of his jeans for his smokes, he waved vaguely in the direction of the front door with his other hand, motioning for her to follow.

"Come on.  I've got a few minutes before the sun comes up," he muttered gently, a cigarette already between his lips as he fished for his lighter, his eyebrows raised towards the door.

Dawn looked down at the stack of books she had been perusing for a moment, uncertainty in her stance.  Then, nodding softly, she shot him a consenting glance, smiling slightly; and followed him out onto the front steps.

*           *           *

Kennedy's dark eyes were wide, contemplating the blonde Slayer in a new light.  Her tone sounded impressed when she spoke.

"Really?  _Three times_?"

Buffy smiled softly at the other girl, her eyes sad.  The two sat, side by side on the bench amidst the training equipment.  After Kennedy's request, Buffy had realized just how exhausted she was.  She had joined the girl on the bench, allowing herself to be questioned about her life as the Slayer; choosing which details to share and which not.  For her part, the dark-haired potential had ignored the gaps in Buffy's answers with penetrating glances; allowing the blonde her privacy, but expressing her interest despite it.  She was different than the other Slayers in Training, in that she didn't press Buffy for details or reasons for her answers; she seemed only interested in learning what it was like to be the Slayer.

Buffy found she could respect the other girl's interest, and so she had relented.  She felt like a mother passing down womanly wisdom, or an artisan sharing her trade with an apprentice.

The dark-haired girl leaned back thoughtfully on her hands, looking amusingly disbelieving.  "Is that normal?  I mean, are there a lot of Slayers who've died and come back like that?"

Buffy smiled again, wryly.  "No.  'Fraid I'm the one and only," she replied modestly.  "At least, so far.  But, there were…factors involved."  Her eyes widened slightly, almost childishly, as she attempted to further explain.  "L-like, the first two times, were really just flukes.  I mean, anyone can die for a moment and be revived with CPR—it happens all the time on _ER_."

Kennedy shot her a look, which was tinged with humor.  "But the third time you were like, buried and everything.  People don't normally come back from that.  Unless you're a vamp."

Buffy raised an eyebrow, surprised at the other's knowledge.  Kennedy grinned, somewhat sheepishly.  "Hey, I…hear things," she muttered, shrugging her shoulders carelessly.

The Slayer sighed, sounding frustrated with the news of her friends' flapping gums.  "Well, radio silence couldn't last forever, I guess…" she muttered dryly to herself.

Kennedy sat up once again, her smile fading into an expression of grim interest.  "Buffy," she began, sounding very serious, "although I'm really curious about the whole 'coming back from the dead' thing—which, by the way, whoa!  Major dedication to the cause 'n all—I have to be honest with you."

The blonde turned to meet her gaze, green eyes attentive at the other's sudden change in tone.

The Slayer in Training continued unhindered.  "I didn't come to you for tid-bits about life as the Slayer."  Kennedy sighed roughly, sounding frustrated with something.  "I know the rundown; I've read the Handbook.  Unlike the other girls, I had a Watcher.  I was fed all the regular lines: "In every generation there is a Chosen One" blah, blah, blah, "fight…the forces of darkness" etcetera, etcetera.'

"I was told this gig was a solitary, lonely deal.  I was told it was a destiny and I couldn't avoid it, if I was chosen.  And I accepted that."  She took a moment to release a breath, sounding lost for the first time since she'd arrived in Buffy's care.  Her expression was tight, uncertain, as she turned to the blonde once again, meeting her gaze levelly.

"But ever since I got here, it all seems to have been proven wrong.  You operate without your Watcher, you're surrounded by friends; you involve civilians in apocalyptic matters.  You save vampires, instead of staking them; keep them and other demons in your group as allies.  And, if I'm not mistaken, you've been romantically involved with vampires as well."

Buffy opened her mouth as if to object, defiance dancing in her eyes, but the expression on Kennedy's face stopped her from doing so.

Kennedy continued, her voice taking on a tone of awe.  "And I realize, I don't know anything about what it is to be the Slayer.  Books, guidelines—none of that prepared me for what you are."  She sat forward suddenly, eagerly, her eyes pleading.  "Buffy, I don't want to go by what Watchers have told me, by what books have told me.  I want to hear it straight from the source."

There was silence for several heartbeats as Buffy seemed to digest this.  She lowered her eyes in thought, and when she raised them again, the look of defiance was still there.  But Kennedy realized it was the look she had always worn.  It was the look of the Slayer; hard and defiant and ever strong; laced with a sadness that would always be hidden there, but quickly replaced with the righteous, warrior's determination that defined her.

She met Kennedy's eyes levelly, green eyes glittering.  "Alright.  You want to hear it from me?  Being the Slayer isn't about handbooks; it isn't about the tests they give you, the lessons they drill into you, the rules they want you to follow.  It's not about Watchers and it's not about the Watcher's Council.'

"It's about you.  You're the power.  The Slayer _is power.  And you can let them wield you, or you can wield yourself."_

The blonde looked suddenly small, frail, as she looked down at her hands for words.  "When…"  She took a breath, as if willing herself to continue.  "When I first found out…I was the Slayer, I was terrified.  I wasn't trained; I didn't know about vampires, or the "forces of darkness".  I thought I had gone insane.  I thought, this was all just a terrible nightmare and I just needed to wake myself up."

Looking up from her hands, she gave the other girl a soft, assuring smile.  "You may not agree with everything you've been taught—and Lord knows I sure don't follow the books—but you, and the other potentials…"  Her smile seemed bittersweet.  "You're lucky to have any prior knowledge or training at all.  I never had any of that."

Kennedy looked sympathetic, meeting the Slayer's eyes with her usual show of self-assurance.  A frank smile touched the corners of her lips.

Her smile turned sardonic.  The blonde Slayer patted her thighs energetically, rising to her feet.  "'Course, even after I _did_ receive training, I ignored much of it and defied the Watcher's Council anyway, so hey, maybe it's not all that much of a plus…"

The dark-haired potential chuckled slightly in amusement, though she gave Buffy a thankful glance.  "I think Mr. Giles is right.  You definitely are a unique Slayer."  Her gaze softened genially.  "A unique _person_."

Buffy seemed to take a deep, grounding breath at this.  "Oh yeah…" she muttered sardonically in agreement, the weight and worries of the last week seeming to return to her once more.  She turned away from the other girl, picking up a stray weapon that had been left out of the chest and returning to her earlier business, her eyes distant and brooding.

"They should've added a few chapters to the Handbook, just for my sake," she murmured, half to herself.

The smile on Kennedy's face sputtered and died like a fading light, the girl's face darkening along with the Slayers.  "What do you mean?" she asked curiously, her tone imploring Buffy to elaborate.

The blonde looked up from the weapon in her hand once again, her eyes seeming to take a moment to focus as she did so.  A frown tugged at the corners of her mouth, weighing down the seriousness in her mind, but Kennedy merely turned where she sat on the bench; her posture sympathetic and willing to listen.

Buffy looked away once more, clearly uncertain whether to continue.  Although her mind had been plagued with worries for the past few days, she hadn't had much time to think on them.  But she had had years to think on other things; other things that now found their places among the many worries and concerns that plagued her now.  Things that had started to come into focus, but being only exposed to the dark recesses of her own thoughts, had not yet clearly developed.  She was unsure as to whether Kennedy was the right person to be sharing these thoughts with, however.

But the urge to share these things with someone was too great.  She realized, speaking with the young potential, that there were some things she herself needed answers to; some things she was dying to get out into the open and take apart with a fine-toothed comb.  And perhaps, along the way, she could share some wisdom; could serve as a warning, perhaps to someone who might just possibly succeed her someday.

Her green eyes turned to pierce Kennedy's gaze once more, her features blank and impassive.  "Well, for starters, "Don't Fall in Love with Vampires.'"

*           *           *

Vampire and girl were both uncomfortably silent for sometime, Spike absently taking drags off of his cigarette and watching the idle path of its ashes as he flicked them off into the early morning wind.  Dawn drew her knees up beneath her in discomfort, tracing the grain of the wood on the front steps with her hand; making lazy patterns out of them.

Another long minute passed in silence before Spike tossed away his butt, pursing his lips in thought as he did so.

"I'm sorry 'bout that potential business, pet," he spoke up softly and suddenly, his low baritone comforting.  "Know it must've been a hard blow."

Beside him, Dawn nodded absently, not looking up from her fascination with the wood's grain.  "Yeah, well, no big deal," she insisted, her tone implying otherwise.  But she gave a small sigh, and when she spoke again, her tone was more assured.  "And anyway, Xander said some things to me which really made a kind of sense, and I guess he was sort of right.  Being a potential could've been cool, but maybe being normal is more important sometimes, too…"

Spike raised an eyebrow at her appreciatively.  He turned away, a faint grin gracing his lips, observing the lightening skies with wan appreciation.  "Mighty grown-up of you to think like that," he murmured with equal appreciation, his gaze still on the skies; watching as deep black faded into sharp, midnight blue.  He sniffed slightly, enjoying the smell of dawn on the air, and yet dreading it at the same time.

His gaze once again turned to the Dawn beside him, his soft smile almost paternal with affection.  "Can see you've done a lot of that in the past year or so, bit: growing up.  'Aven't seen much of you in all that time, it seems."

The girl's head swung up at the sadness in his voice, and she finally turned to meet his gaze.  Her blue eyes were equally accusing and equally pained, still tinged with teenaged defiance.  But there was fear there as well, though she tried to hide it, but much like her sister, there wasn't much she could hide from the blonde vampire.

"Of course.  Because you left," she stated, her tone cold, but laced with other heavy emotions.  

Her eyes were sharp and accusing now, as well as her words, and Spike found himself turning away with no small amount of guilt, unable to face those eyes.  "You know I had to," he replied in low tones, a muscle in his cheek twitching at the memory.

Dawn nodded emphatically; sardonically at his reply.  "Yeah…yeah, I know."  She pulled her legs out from beneath her roughly, stretching them out before her over the edge of the steps.

Yet instead of growing further incensed, her tone became suddenly softer.  "When Buffy…told me…about that night," she began softly, painfully, her forehead pinched at the weight of unpleasant memories, "I wouldn't believe her at first.  I couldn't.  I mean, you had been there all that summer when she'd been gone…"

There was a twinge of pain in the vampire's features.

Dawn took a shallow breath and continued.  "I knew…I knew you had been in as much pain as I had—I knew!  There was more man than monster left after her death, I could see it in the way you acted; in the way you treated me.'

"I felt safe that summer."  Her voice was soft, almost reverent.  "I didn't feel so alone.  And I knew"—she looked at him suddenly, forcefully—"I knew more than ever that you really loved her; you really did!  And then you went… then you went and did _that_."

He didn't need for her to elaborate, the way she spoke.  He knew exactly what she spoke of—the very mention of it tore at his recently returned soul with renewed vengeance.  It had been his reason for leaving, whether the right or the wrong at the time.  And it had been the catalyst for getting his soul back in the first place.

"Dawn," he began softly, his voice laced with pain.

"No, it took me _months to get myself to hate you like I should have," she continued, cutting him off.  Her tone was now fiercer, bitter.  Pained.  "I should have hated you.  After what you did!  It was only right.'_

"But if you had only stayed…"  Her blue eyes swam, focusing on the grain of the wood in front of her again.

"Dawn, pet…" began Spike once more, his hand flexing as if to rest on her shoulder, but he resisted, fearing her reaction.  Beyond the eaves, shades of blue turned ever slowly to slate gray as dawn grew continually nearer; the faintest hints of rose appearing along the edge of the horizon.

Dawn's voice was even quieter than before, perhaps only perceivable to his vampire ears.  "I missed you," she admitted suddenly in a frail voice, still averting her eyes from his.  "I know I said—"

Spike abruptly cut off her excuses, trying to spare her the pain.  "I missed you too, Dawn," he replied in a clear voice, his usual baritone soft with affection.  She turned suddenly, uncertain, and caught the flash of a grin on the vampire's sorrowful face.  "Though I'd figured you knew that already," he added wryly.

There was surprise in the teenager's steel-blue eyes as his words slowly registered.  "You…!  No—no, I didn't know…" she began faintly, a slow revelation coming over her features.  When her eyes were finally able to focus on him again, they were brimming with unshed tears.

"Y-you…missed me?  Really?"

The vampire's smile was bittersweet and slightly abashed.  He looked away in embarrassment, his eyes wandering to the exciting pattern of the wood just as she had done earlier.  "Well, it's true you're no Buffy…" he muttered uncomfortably, still averting his gaze.

Dawn didn't seem hurt by the casual insult.  Spike took an unneeded breath, sighing heavily with discomfiture.  "What I mean, bit, is…"

Dawn faint smile melted the words on his lips.  "Thanks," she murmured suddenly, finally understanding just what the vampire was trying to say.

Spike turned to meet her gaze once again, confusion in his dark eyes.  He pursed his lips in a show of irritation, but Dawn could see that that was all it was: a show.

"Oh, sod it all!  You Summers women have got—"

The teenager's smile became a satisfied smirk.  "I know; we've got you wrapped around our little fingers," she finished for him, looking smug.  She sighed in mock hopelessness.  "You are so dead."

Spike pretended to glare at her smugness, but she could see the look of affection in his blue eyes.  The wall that had been there since his return from Africa was nearly undone; or at least, a great deal weaker than before.

"Alright.  Time for you to run along to your beddy-bye, now…" he grumbled with feigned irritation, signaling the end of their little heart-to-heart.  "Or Big Sis will _really do a number on me for keeping you up this late."_

Dawn climbed to her feet obediently, with only some reluctance, trying to cover up a further grin at his brotherly concern.

"See," she pointed out, her eyebrows raised for emphasis.  "You're a slave to our charms…"  She was failing horribly at covering up her grin.

"Bed.  Now," was Spike's gruff reply, pointing sternly in the direction of the house.  She followed obediently, closing the front door after her.  But not without a shooting a smug grin in his direction.

After she had gone, Spike allowed himself a chuckle at her spirit as he turned back to watching the sky.  For several minutes longer, he watched the horizon blossom with early morning color.  And then, somewhat reluctantly, he headed for the safety of the house once more, turning his back as dawn finally burst forth in its full radiance and filled the sky with light.

*           *           *           *


End file.
